


Just Another Night

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Victor, Angst, Angst Victor, Bar, Drama, Exhaustion, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-11-15 07:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An archangel and an F.B.I. agent walk into a bar. What chaos will ensue? Read on to find out…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Night

**Author's Note:**

> Set before 'Jus in Belo' though still in Season 3. Just a pretty short one-shot. No slash.  
> This just randomly popped up in my head one day and I had to write it. I really liked Henricksen and I wanted to do him some justice here, plus I just had this notion of how he would interact with Gabriel, so I hope you enjoy.

He looks up from his scotch to find a man slide into the seat beside him. His hair is golden brown and his eyes are a mysteriously mischievous amber, but overall Henricksen hasn’t seen him in his life before and that’s a good sign because he really came here, to this bar, to completely forget about his past and the current task at hand: finding those damn Winchester brothers that just don’t want to be found. 

Henricksen takes another gulp before motioning to the bartender, who’s actually kinda cute but he’s too out of it to pay attention to that tonight, for another one and she fills it without question. 

He looks over for only a brief moment, catches the man watching him before turning away to request a drink himself. Victor doesn’t pay him much mind for the first few minutes, until his presence starts to irk him a little that is. 

“Listen," he turns a little on his bar stool, “I’m really not in the mood for small talk tonight. So if you don’t mind," he throws down a twenty and makes an attempt to leave the bar and head back to his piece of shit motel room. “I think I’ll be going now.”

The F.B.I. agent would have been successful too, if only that very same man that he so wanted to get away from didn’t grab hold of his jacket to keep him in place. And that isn’t something Victor Henricksen appreciates all too much. 

He shoves the guy off, stares at him carefully to confirm that he hasn’t seen him before. Still, no recognition, not even the slightest bit and it only pisses him off more in a way. Normally he would be shoving him up against the nearest wall but that isn’t quite his style tonight. He’s dead tired, buzzed enough to make him not care all too much to act, which could prove dangerous and hopefully wouldn’t. 

“Sit back down.” The man adds, “Please.”

Victor can’t help but stare at him for another half second before he does something truly stupid, he slips back into his stool and settles in for yet another drink that will be the death of him. That is, if this golden haired wanna be god didn’t pull the trigger of his own personal gun first. 

He doesn’t talk, waits for him to talk because he doesn’t even know what to say, doesn’t know why he’s still here and not back at the motel already, pouring over more files, calling in a few numbers, something, _anything_ that just might bring him one step closer to catching those damn boys that have been driving him up the wall for far too long. 

“You seem like a dedicated man, Henricksen.”

The F.B.I. agent turns toward him now, catches a flicker of vibrant gold in his amber eyes, chalks it up to a trick of the lights overhead them and nothing more. 

He really doesn’t want to deal with this tonight. 

“I should be," he downs another glass. “I’m an F.B.I. agent after all. What’s your name and how the hell do you know mine?”

The guy grins, stares down at his drink like he’s worried it’s gonna explode or something. “I prefer champagne myself, though this will do in a pinch.”

“Answer me," Henricksen growls, “or I’ll throw you in a cell for the rest of the night and see that you don’t get on my nerves any more than you already are.”

He smirks, “Me? Getting on your nerves? Wow, seems I haven’t lost my mojo after all. Anyway, I’m Gabriel," he extends his hand but Henricksen doesn’t take it, actually afraid to accept it in a way. “And it doesn’t matter how I know your name, I know all about you, Victor Henricksen. Your childhood all the way up to how you first found out about the Winchesters.”

Henricksen finds himself in full F.B.I. agent mode now, “If you know anything at all about where they are, you best tell me now before I’m tempted to pry it out of you.”

Gabriel, if that really is his name which Victor is assuming, no, actually pretty damn sure that it’s not, laughs, actually laughs over his drink as he pushes it aside and focuses back on him. It shouldn’t be surprising to Victor anyway, usually his warnings, no matter how much he deems them menacing, have no effect on the scum he’s forced to deal with on a daily basis. 

Heads too thick for their own good, he muses. 

“Chill, Vic. I’m not aiding or abetting any fugitives. I can’t even say that I know much about the boys, just that they attempted to kill me once and almost succeeded, would have if I wasn’t the person I am.”

It suddenly occurs to him that this guy might have a _major_ ego problem. 

Victor studies him carefully, pays no mind to the lights flickering above his head, casting this Gabriel person in shadows and he can see the gold flicker in his eye again. He’d never admit it to anyone but it kind of creeps him out. 

“How’s the investigation going anyway?”

“I’m not in the grounds to tell you. Wouldn’t want you to tip them off anyway.”

He doesn’t doubt that this actually pretty short guy knows something that he’s not letting on. When you have a couple boys try to kill you and apparently fail in the attempt, if what he says is true after all, you inevitably end up learning something, something hopefully of interest to both his cause and his job. 

For now he just figures he’ll engage in pointless chitchat and finish drinking his last scotch. Later on, when the man motions to scoot he’ll take him into custody and grill him long and hard. It’ll be fun, something to get his mind off losing hope and feeling useless like he has for quite some time now. 

A few minutes of uncomfortable and irritable silence pass by before Gabriel speaks again. 

“Listen carefully, Henricksen. I want you to leave those two boys alone.”

He turns to him and it suddenly dawns on him that this man is of no interest to him. Victor doesn’t want to be in this shitty bar with him, wouldn’t want to be stuck in an interrogation room with him. This guy’s a smug son of a bitch and he now doubts that he knows anything, _anything_ at all of importance other than from what’s he seen on TV or read in the damn newspaper. More than anything else in the world now, he wants to get away. 

Still, he bites his tongue and stays put for the time being. 

“And if I don’t?”

Gabriel moves closer with no hesitation in sight, attempting to appear menacing, wanting to get across that he means business but the F.B.I. agent has since labeled this whole conversation bullshit and isn’t scared in the least bit. 

“They’re got plans, big plans headed their way and their destinies are all set out for them. Playing parts, killing people, you know the drill.”

Victor just nods and matches his fierce gaze, “You bet I do. And you can also bet that I’m not gonna let them get away with any more of it. I’m hot on their trail now, so close I can taste the friction coming from their boots.”

He doesn’t understand why this guy would want to protect them, especially since he claimed they tried to kill him. More than that he’s wondering why he’s contradicting himself, since he just claimed two seconds ago that this man couldn’t possibly know the two. 

Gabriel’s probably lied about every little thing since he’s got here, Henricksen thinks to himself. Still, another night he would love to get this guy in another room, a more secure room so he can slap him around a little and get him to wipe that smug smirk off his face. Victor’s exploring all the possibilities now, that maybe he has a crush on one of the brothers and is just trying to protect that specific one. Victor doesn’t chuck it up to being farfetched, far stranger things have happened since he started on the boys’ trail and ended up busting his ass just to find their location 24/7. 

The golden haired man just stares at him, looking like he’s about ready to grab Victor and shake some futile sense into him or something but he doesn’t, just stays perfectly still and doesn’t leave his eyes and it’s sort of creepy and only getting creepier. 

“Just lay off them. Because if you don’t," he slides off his stool and walks away, faster than Henricksen can keep track of, “you can be sure that I’ll be coming for you next.”

Victor ignores him, or at least claims that’s what he does. Instead, he only ends up sighing and rubbing a tired hand over his face, turning away from the seat next to him as he watches the staff begin to close up the bar for the night. He glances at his watch and what it reads in small red letters: 12:54 pm. Early enough to make his way back to his temporary flea-ridden home, but nowhere near late enough for him to justify hitting the sack and leaving the Winchester brothers for another, perhaps brighter day. 

Could his nights get any longer or any less eerie? He supposes not.

**FIN**


End file.
